What boots it, thy virtue, What profit thy parts, While one thing thou lackest, -- The art of all arts? The only credentials, Passport to success; Opens castle and parlor, -- Address, man, Address. The maiden in danger Was saved by the swain; His stout arm restored her To Broadway again. The maid would reward him, -- Gay company come; They laugh, she laughs with them; He is moonstruck and dumb. This clinches the bargain; Sails out of the bay; Gets the vote in the senate, Spite of Webster and Clay; Has for genius no mercy, For speeches no heed; It lurks in the eyebeam, It leaps to its deed. Church, market, and tavern, Bed and board, it will sway. It has no to-morrow; It ends with to-day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE FOX; FOR ANN PEARN by EDITH SITWELL THE TURNSTILE by WILLIAM BARNES BOSTON by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE BREAKING by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON THE HWOMESTEAD by WILLIAM BARNES ON A SMALL DOG by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |